


intimacy drabbles series

by nats_zoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Drunkenness, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Grinding, Hickeys, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Mild Sexual Content, Naked Cuddling, Neck Kissing, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Showers, Sleeping Together, Stomach kisses, Suggestive Themes, lots going on here, p much all the characters are TIMESKIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nats_zoo/pseuds/nats_zoo
Summary: a collection of drabbles with various haikyuu boys, based on different intimate activities.(used to be separately-posted drabbles in a series, but i decided to move it all to one book!)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Kozume Kenma/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Ojiro Aran/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader, Tanaka Ryuunosuke/Reader, Tsukishima Kei/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 207





	1. iwaizumi hajime + shotgunning

**Author's Note:**

> HEYOOOO if you recognize any of these drabbles its because i'd posted them before already!! they were previously posted separately but i decided to just compile it all into one place for convenience purposes!!

the bedroom is warm. the draft coming in from the window cools you down, but the hazy look hajime gives you leaves you dizzy and dazed. 

you hadn’t pegged your boyfriend as a stoner (though he argues that “stoner” isn’t an accurate term regardless). but the discovery of his grinder and one conversation later, you realized that there’s still a lot of things about hajime that you don’t know. 

you were very accepting of his “hobby,” much to his relief, and very eager to try it out yourself. the events that led up to this are fuzzy, but all you know at the moment is  _ hajime— _ hajime iwaizumi and the lingering scent of his cologne and the soft wind coming through his window and the gray walls of his room. hajime iwaizumi and the foreign smell of the joint in his hand and the feel of his forehead pressed against your neck and the warm breath he sends across your collarbone. 

“hajime,” you mumble his name into his hair, and he lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you properly. he looks tired and out-of-it, but the look he gives you is so soft and gentle and you suppress a croon at his expression. 

“can i try?” the request comes out as a whisper. hajime’s eyes widen and his posture straightens out. you’re worried you might’ve offended him somehow, that it was a stupid request and he’d tell you to go home—but after a heartbeat or two, a gentle smile crosses his face again.

“okay,” he mumbles, and the timbre of his voice shakes you to your core. your eyes flit to the slowly burning joint that his fingers hang onto before coming back up to his eyes, warm and hot and heavy. 

hajime adjusts his position to sit in front of you, and your breath hitches in anticipation. he taps the top of the joint with the side of his finger in habit as he looks at you. “have you ever smoked before?” at the shake of your head, he nods. “i’m not going to make you smoke it yourself today. we’re going to try something else, alright?” 

you’re confused, but you nod at him. you trust hajime, you know he wouldn’t deliberately do anything unsafe with you. he smiles again, soft and fuzzy and warm and there’s a buzzing in your head and core as he shifts closer to you. 

he’s sitting with his legs crossed and tucked underneath him, and he shifts into the gap between your outstretched legs. your fingers twitch at your sides—he must notice, as he extends his hand to interlock firmly with yours. 

“i’ll take a hit, and then exhale it into your mouth. you have to inhale the smoke from that. okay?” you give a hesitant nod. the hand that previously held yours comes up to cradle your face. 

your senses are overloaded. his hands are calloused and rough, a gentle scrape against the delicate skin of your cheek. everything else about him is soft—his eyes, the expression he gives you, the fabric of his shirt as you grip it tightly. 

you’re not aware of when he inhales but you’re hyper-aware of every little detail of him when he leans into you, lips touching the slightest bit, and exhales hot and heavy into your mouth. 

you’re obedient, breathing in the secondhand smoke he gives you. your skull vibrates at the proximity, the feeling of having him  _ right there _ in front of you but not quite touching you in the ways you  _ need _ to be touched. his hand is heavy on your cheek, and his mouth lingers over yours longer than necessary. you don't complain. 

you want to kiss him. you want to taste him on your tongue, heady and sweet and wet, but when you lean forward to meet him, the hand against your head holds you in place. your eyes blink open, glassy and innocent and needy and you notice the falter in hajime’s otherwise steadfast expression. 

“good girl.” 

  
you’re melting. you’re melting against his hands and his chest and his lips—his _lips,_ plush and warm and soft and wet and the flit of his tongue against the seam of your mouth makes a whine build at the bottom of your throat and it’s embarrassing _,_ _God_ it’s _embarrassing_ how weak you are against him. your head is fuzzy but you crave more—more of the still-burning joint that’s sitting on the floor now, more of him, more of hajime iwaizumi and the lingering scent of his cologne and the soft wind coming through his window and the gray wall of his bedroom. 


	2. kozume kenma + making out/grinding

your boyfriend is pretty. you know this. you do your best to make sure  _ he _ knows this, too. 

his handheld console has long been pushed to the side of the bed, his attention going from animal crossing to you in a matter of seconds. you’d been holding yourself back for the night, but there was something about the sight of your boyfriend—focused, brow furrowed, jaw clenched the slightest bit--that was so endearing yet so enticing. 

you’re straddling him now, firmly planted on his thighs as his legs lay outstretched. he looks up at you in anticipation, eyes shiny and lips parted and breath shaky. you love him. you love kozume kenma and  _ fuck, _ you  _ want _ him so bad. 

your hands rest at the sides of his neck, laying heavy and warm and innocent—but kenma feels the assertive undertone beneath the weight of your palm. his breath hitches at the back of his throat, eyes flitting between the corners of your face as he waits for you to move. 

you do, eventually—you lean down steeply to press a lingering, wet kiss on his lips, the coldness of his skin making you falter the slightest bit. 

your lips move slickly against each other, tongue peeking out to run against the seal of his lips and relishing in the shiver it pulls from him. in the meanwhile, your hands slide up high enough to rest against the sides of his face. though your eyes are closed, you’ve done this enough times to memorize every tiny feature of kenma’s face. your thumbs drag against the tiny marks on his skin—the ones that are light reddish-brown and raised slightly against the surface of his skin, acne scars from past years of adolescence that still linger on adult skin. 

the hairs at kenma’s hairline become damp in perspiration—he’s hot, sweaty, maybe overwhelmed, you realize. you pull back to check on him but the pleading look in his eyes and the  _ whine _ that comes out entices you to sink back into everything that’s  _ him. _

you scoot up until you’re resting entirely in his lap and your legs are curling around his waist loosely. you feel a firmness beneath where you sit that makes you smile cheekily against his lips—the embarrassed huff he lets out tells you that he knows you noticed, but you continue despite his momentary stutter. 

you meld your lips with his again, tongue slipping in easily against his pliant mouth. you take the chance, and your hips roll down smoothly into his, inciting a short moan of pleasure from kenma. you pull back slightly to sigh hotly, forehead leaning into his shoulder as you focus your energy into grinding yourself down into him. 

kenma groans, stuttered and shaky and needy in the back of his throat. he doesn’t let them become full sounds, but in the moments where your hips come down at just the right angle, with just the right force, he loses concentration and his body  _ vibrates _ with the force of his pleasure. 

he’s all sensitive neck and sensitive sides and you’re ready to take full advantage of that.

(you smile against his skin. you’re going to have a very fun night.)


	3. oikawa tooru + hickeys

oikawa tooru is beautiful. everybody knows it, but you know it best. 

you relish in that fact. people look through television screens and phone screens and magazines and look at your lover and think, “wow, he’s gorgeous.” but you get to see firsthand how beautiful this man can be. not one of his old high school fangirls, not his current fans, not those overly flirtatious interviewers, not his teammates. nobody but you. 

you smile up at him as he sits in your lap. yes, oikawa tooru, six-foot-three, twenty-seven years old, is sitting in  _ your _ lap. the sight of it—the  _ feeling _ of it—leaves you breathless. he’s weighty in your lap, warm as your back rests against the plush of the sofa. there’s a tint of red in his skin that only makes you adore him more. 

tooru is a prideful man, but in your lap (the feel of your hands slipping under his shirt, fingers tracing  _ stars _ into his skin, nails dragging light red lines on his stomach—), he loses all sense of what pride may be to him and melts in your embrace. 

your fingers thrum along his skin. he suppresses a shudder at the closeness of it all. your smile doesn’t falter as you lean closer and your lips part and, “my baby,” leaves your lips. he squeezes his eyes shut and you know he’s all yours now. 

“my baby,” it fans out against his collarbone now, damp and warm. your fingers hook around the scooped neckline of his shirt, tugging it down until a wider expanse of his chest is revealed. 

your lips latch onto a soft spot near his collarbone, kissing it firmly before your teeth come out to nip at the delicate skin. a sigh of contentment leaves tooru before a fuller sound escapes him—he  _ moans, _ graceful and quiet and pretty just like the rest of him. 

“so good,” he tells you. tooru’s voice is shaky as you continue to trace his collarbones with your lips. you love this version of him, the one  _ you’ve _ created from scratch, taking him apart slowly and letting him crumble in your embrace. and you love  _ him, _ just him, everything he has to offer to the world and you. 

(though he’d argue that they’re the same thing.) 

minutes pass full of shaky breaths and muffled whimpers. tooru’s body is artwork, a tan canvas smattered with red-violet bruises. your fingers drag across damp skin until the pads of your first two fingers press themselves into a dark hickey. tooru’s breath hitches at the feeling—a slight pleasurable ache washing over his torso. he lets out a choked noise, pulled out from the back of his throat until it escapes from his tongue. 

your teeth drag and pull across his skin, your nails continuing to scratch gentle marks into the delicate skin of his abdomen. when you pull back and admire him in his tainted glory, you smile. 

“gonna cover these up tomorrow?” you ask tauntingly. tooru’s eyes snap open as if he’s forgotten—he has practice tomorrow morning, which doesn’t allow much time for the hickeys to heal. his gaze grows foggy and your fingers tap against his stomach to bring him back to you. 

a teasing grin graces his features. 

“i don’t think so.” 

  
(he makes sure to return the favor throughout the night, obviously. and in the morning when one of his teammates asks where he got those  _ weird bruises _ from, he only laughs.) 


	4. yamaguchi tadashi + stomach kisses

it’s not  _ weird. _ you swear it’s not. it’s just… an observation. 

your boyfriend is  _ stunningly _ soft. like. physically soft. (romantically/emotionally, too, but your friends wouldn’t be calling you weird for just calling his personality soft. they call you weird because you’ve physically described him as “malleable” at least three times before.) 

you first began to notice it when you started holding hands. 

they were so… gentle? soft? not warm, unfortunately—tadashi always ran cold for whatever reason. and they were always slightly damp with sweat, but you learned to get used to it. his skin—his  _ flesh— _ was just so… soft. 

it started to become a more intriguing feature of his when you first cuddled. 

tadashi likes being the little spoon. that was absolutely no surprise to you. he likes being coddled and taken care of, especially after long days of classes when he comes home and wants to do nothing more than just  _ relax _ . 

when your hands slipped under his shirt subtly (read: absolutely not subtly in the slightest), you were met with (cold) skin that was… undeniably  _ squishy. _ you ignored the momentary jolt he gave at the contact, instead focusing on… pressing your fingers… into his stomach. 

(“[y/n],” you remember him whispering to you. “what… what are you doing?” 

“...feeling.” 

“...okay.”)

and you supposed your fascination with your boyfriend’s… skin? flesh?  _ meatsuit?? _ was what led you here. 

tadashi’s face is wonderfully flushed, warm beneath those gorgeous freckles of his. he thinks it’s embarrassing, the way you have his shirt pulled up to right underneath his chest (very much still covering his nipples—he was  _ very  _ adamant on keeping those concealed, for whatever reason), and the way your fingers are  _ still poking around his stupid-soft skin. _

“this is…” he begins. “this is. um. how long are you going to keep doing this?” 

“good question.” you ponder. a second passes. you stop pondering. “no idea.” 

a dejected sigh leaves yamaguchi, head falling back onto the pillows of your mattress as he relents to your odd actions. your thumb is now gently tracing his navel and he absolutely does not have the energy nor the confidence to tell you that that is a  _ very sensitive spot actually please don’t touch it or i might literally combust— _

and then he feels something. and he picks his head up from the pillows and looks down at you and. and you’re kissing? his stomach? 

and it?? feels  _ good?? _

tadashi thinks he will die from many things tonight. he thinks he’ll melt into a sappy little puddle from how  _ oddly gentle _ you’re being. he thinks he’ll also melt from how absolutely  _ embarrassed  _ he is to be… presented? shown? displayed? to you like this. then again, he genuinely can’t find the energy to push you away, and he knows that if he said anything outright expressing his discomfort, you’d stop immediately. 

so he just kind of… lets you be. lets you  _ experiment, _ or whatever. 

you don't stop… kissing him. his stomach. your lips trail softly against his skin  _ (he is so fucking ticklish right now and if he makes any sort of noise he will literally unlatch the window in his bedroom and jump out) _ and press gently into his flesh when you find a spot you’re satisfied with, in the meanwhile, your hands grip his sides securely, thumbs tracing  _ also-ticklish _ circles into his abdomen as you continue your small little gestures. 

a few minutes pass. a few noises  _ threaten _ to slip out of yamaguchi’s mouth (but he suppresses them by threatening his own brain and telling it that he will  _ die, _ literally  _ disintegrate _ , if he doesn’t  _ keep his mouth shut). _ his head has long since fallen back against the soft cushion of the pillows, relenting very easily to you. (as always. you’re his weak spot. ...and the kisses feel kind of good.) 

he feels the weight of your head rest on his stomach, arms slipping further underneath him until they encircle his torso completely, latching onto him like he’s a stuffed animal. (you almost laugh at that. he  _ does _ feel like one.) 

“are you going to just… fall asleep like that?” he asks you incredulously. 

you hum, head shifting to rest on its side. “probably.” 

he sighs. he’s very stupidly in love with you. 


	5. tsukishima kei + aftercare

your body aches. it’s not sore just yet, being only minutes after your “session” with kei ended. there’s a dull pain shooting through your legs (particularly your thighs) and sensitive spots on your sides from where fingers previously gripped. 

you are tired. so very tired, but you know that kei is very strict with his after-sex routine. which you appreciate. but at this point in time you are not inclined to assist at all. (which is usually how it is, to be fair. kei never complains, though.) 

you don’t notice that your eyes have shut until a hand brushes against your sweaty cheek. eyes fluttering open, you’re met with kei’s soft gaze and you find yourself melting into his touch. 

“hey,” you mumble. 

“hey,” he mumbles back.

you two stay like that for a while, just looking at each other so intimately (as if what you’d just finished doing wasn’t  _ already _ intimate) until you burst out in quiet chuckles. 

kei huffs. “what are you laughing about?” his tone is sarcastic and it only serves to amuse you more. 

“nothing. you’re just such a sap, you know?” 

the blonde makes a noise of protest, pulling his hand back swiftly and beginning to walk away in playful anger. you grip onto his wrist between bouts of giggling and he scoffs. 

“i wasn’t even  _ saying _ anything and you just… drew that conclusion.” 

“well, i think i drew that conclusion throughout the  _ four years _ we’ve been together, kei.” 

your boyfriend only huffs as he picks up a small, damp towel he’d left on the foot of the bed when he first walked in. he moves to wipe between your thighs gently, soothing you with a warm hand on your skin whenever you jerk in sensitivity. 

“you did good today,” he mutters to you, like he always does during aftercare. it brings a soft smile to your tired expression as you lean back more comfortably into your bed. “and i love you, okay?” 

a weak laugh escapes you. “i know. i love you too. ‘n you were good, too, you know? i felt  _ really _ good.” 

kei rolls his eyes as he tosses the towel back on the edge of the bed (where it inevitably slips off and falls onto the ground). he shifts his way up on the mattress until he’s laying next to you on his size, gazing into your eyes tiredly. you sigh in contentment, a hand reaching out to weakly cup his cheek. he takes gentle hold of your wrist and turns his head slightly to place a soft kiss on your palm— _ God, _ you feel yourself swooning. 

“wanna take a shower today or in the morning?” he asks you, tone quiet. you take a moment to think as your thumb traces loose circles against his cheek. 

“i’ll take a bath.” 

kei groans in mock frustration. “you and your baths.” 

rolling your eyes, you flick his forehead playfully reveling in the wince it draws from him. “baths are  _ so _ cool. and they let me sit down. i can’t exactly stand for very long right now.”

“i can carry you.” 

“with  _ what _ upper body strength?” 

“you wanna know what— you were  _ not _ complaining at all just forty minutes ago when—” 

_ “okay! i get it!  _ you’re right, no need to  _ recount _ everything like it’s a court testimony.” 

your boyfriend hums, content with his victory, before he rolls to be face-first into the mattress, letting out an exhausted sigh. “can we take one in the morning? baths take too long to set up… ‘n clean up… and i don’t want to do anything right now.” 

“mmm. same.” 

“we’re in agreement, then?” 

“yessir.” 


	6. ushijima wakatoshi + falling asleep together

on the couch, staring into the olive green eyes of your lover (half-lidded, dazed, tired), you think you haven’t felt this content in a while. 

it wasn’t wakatoshi’s fault, you know it isn’t—just a combination of assholes from work as well as the time spent away from your husband had all piled onto you and made you restless for a few days. fortunately for you, over the years wakatoshi had become a little more observant of all your little quirks, enough that he managed to come home early on your day off to spend time with you. 

it wasn’t anything special. just a quiet night with takeout boxes stacked on the kitchen island, knees touching on the couch and an open wine bottle on the coffee table. 

tired and wine-drunk, wakatoshi is very clearly on the verge of dozing off. it’s late—far past the usual time he goes to bed, but he argued that he’s staying up to make it up to you. the gesture is very appreciated from your end but you know it’s not the best idea to throw off his circadian rhythm like that. so, giving him a gentle shove so he doesn’t pass out in his uncomfortable position on the couch, you whisper to him softly that  _ “it’s beddy-bye, darling.” _

(yes, “beddy-bye.” your husband is not above being baby-talked when he’s tired.) 

you do your part in making sure he doesn’t trip on the way to your bedroom, pushing him to lay down on the plush of the mattress and melt into the warms of the covers. 

you pull the duvet over the both of you, laying on your side to face each other. wakatoshi is buzzed and exhausted—a combination that you find makes him quite affectionate. an arm slips around your shoulders, tugging you closer to his warm body before he shoves his head into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into the warmth of you and your sleep shirt. 

wakatoshi plants a kiss on your skin,  _ “i love you,”  _ a hand traces the back of your neck, feeling warmed skin as his fingers travel along your spine. he tugs the hem of your shirt up clumsily, exploring your skin innocently. his fingertips press into the gaps between your vertebrae, short clipped nails sending prickly sensations down your spinal cord. 

a hand—yours, this time—tentatively reaches near your shoulder, where wakatoshi’s head still rests. fingers swim through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging softly and tracing invisible patterns in them. 

wakatoshi’s breathing and the gentle movements of his hands lull you to sleep. you’re warm. you’re home. 


	7. sakusa kiyoomi + showering together

“can you pass me the—” 

“which one is yours again?” 

“blue one.  _ oh—! _ don’t knock down the—” 

too late. despite kiyoomi’s verbal warning, you stumble against the wall of the shower and knock over a few bottles of body wash from where they previously rested on the ledge. you sigh. this is disastrous. 

turning to kiyoomi, you give him an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry. i didn’t think it was going to be this… chaotic. i’ll leave for now and use the shower when you’re d—” 

“no.” it’s a firm response, one you have to blink at a few times to actually process. you weren’t expecting your lover to protest—in fact, you’d thought he’d find it relieving that you finally gave up on the whole “showering together bonding time” thing. (it was a silly suggestion, yes, but kiyoomi had relented to it after the… third time you asked. you took the victory, obviously.)

but turning to look in his eyes, there was a firm sort of stubbornness in them that almost made you chuckle. “you wanted to do this and i wanted to do this, too. we can make this work.” 

yes, maybe he was being a little dramatic (maybe  _ you  _ were being a little dramatic, too), but sakusa kiyoomi knows the right times to be dramatic—and you certainly weren’t complaining. 

“okay,” you mumble, a growing smile on your face. “gotcha. how about i wash your hair?” 

surprisingly, kiyoomi relents to this quite easily, handing you the special bottle of shampoo that he uses (the type that’s specifically for curls like his) and turning around so you can reach his hair.

you squeeze out a decent amount of the product into your palm, rubbing your hands together momentarily to share the product between your hands before you dig into the damp, loosened curls of kiyoomi’s hair. 

a soft sigh escapes him as you dig into his scalp. you’re not even sure if you’re washing it correctly, but kiyoomi seems to be enjoying the feeling of it, so you keep going. 

a few minutes pass of you dragging suddy fingers through his inky hair before you reach to press a kiss onto his temple. “‘s that good?” 

his eyes, which had been closed as he fell into the recesses of relaxation, flutter open. you repress a sigh at the sight of them; dark and reflective and beautiful. he hums in affirmation before turning his body around completely, arms locking around your shoulders as he pulls you into his body. 

the feeling of damp skin on damp skin is foreign to you, but you think it’s a sensation you could get used to. digging your face into the crook of kiyoomi’s shoulder, you smile, the stretch of your lips being felt on his skin. 

fingers tangle into his still-soapy hair and you press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “we still have to rinse this out ‘n then wash everything else, kiyoomi.” 

“i know,” he mumbles into the crown of your head. “just five more minutes.” 

you smile again. you can wait five minutes. 


	8. ojiro aran + neck kissing

aran’s room is warm—his house has always had a comfortable heat during the winter, and huddled together under the thick covers of his bed and coming close to share body heat, there’s no sudden drafts of cold air to bother you. 

he’s smiling at you—that dumb wide smile he always gives you in the later hours of the evening when you’re cuddled up like this. you smile back, head ducking into the crook of his neck and digging into the comfort of it. 

“are you tired yet?” you mumble the question into warm skin and feel aran place his hand gently at the nape of your neck. he sighs warmly into the crown of your head and rustling is heard as he shakes his head in response. 

“‘s only seven o’clock. too early to go to bed.” 

“but we can nap for a bit.” 

“then we’ll be too out of it to sleep at a  _ normal _ time.” 

you sigh. “you’re difficult.” 

aran pinches the back of your neck playfully and you yelp, reaching up to smack his hand away with an equally spiteful attitude. 

“i’m not the difficult one,” he shoots back light-heartedly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. a content sigh escapes you, and you move to fit your head underneath his yet again, the expanse of his neck now within a close distance of you. 

you tilt your head, pecking a soft part of his neck. aran giggles. 

he giggles. ojiro aran, 24, tachibana red falcons outside hitter just  _ giggled  _ when you kissed his neck. 

his pointed silence tells you that he’s already embarrassed, but you are absolutely not letting this go. no way. 

“aran.” your tone is serious, but there’s a cackle trapped in the back of your throat that you’re trying  _ so _ hard to force down. “did you… are you ticklish?” 

there’s no response for a solid amount of time, and his delayed “no” doesn’t stop the  _ rush _ you get from this new development. 

ojiro aran. 24. tachibana red falcons outside hitter. is  _ ticklish. _

you think you’re going to lose it. 

you force more distance between the two of you just so you can glance up at him. you’re grinning coquettishly—a very fearful thing, yes—and you can tell he’s on high alert now that you’ve made this discovery. 

aran squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the worst, but they snap open once again when he feels a soft touch at the side of his neck. 

it’s your lips, dragging across them gently. you don’t turn it into anything more, simply holding him in place with one hand resting behind his head as you trace imaginary constellations into the delicate skin of his throat with your lips. 

aran’s nerves are on high alert, and as you travel from place to place along his skin, there’s certain points where he has to suppress an unintentional giggle. you feel the subtle clicks and rumbles of his throat as he does his best to relax his body—you can’t help but find it funny that he’s so on-edge about the whole thing, though at the same time there’s the slightest feeling of guilt in your mind. 

you pull back, gazing up at him. “you okay?” there’s a second of hesitation in his expression, but he smiles—the same one as before, his dumb-wide-later-hours-of-the-evening smile. there’s a softness in his eyes that threatens to melt you—you lean down to press one more kiss to the underside of his jaw, just for good measure. there’s a sharp breath that leaves his nose at the feeling and you laugh softly at the reaction. 

“‘m tired now.”

“right, because  _ bullying me _ really takes a lot of energy.”

“i was  _ not _ bullying you! i was literally kissing you!” 

“after finding out i was ticklish, which you were  _ laughing _ at—” 

“right, yes, i’m terrible. can we sleep now?”

aran sighs, wrapping his arms around you as you once again make a home in the crook of his neck. soft lips touch your hairline and you feel yourself getting drowsier. 

“anythin’ for you.” 


	9. tanaka ryuunosuke + cuddling naked

the feeling of bare skin on bare skin is, in theory, not a feeling that’s unfamiliar to you. but it’s different, so very different, when it’s all of you pressed against all of ryuu, no clothes to act as a barrier between your bodies. 

your skin is slightly damp from the shower you’d taken before, and ryuu smells like your green-apple-body-wash, the scent only intensifying as he pulls you to him with an arm around your shoulders. 

you’re both laying on your sides, facing each other with a blanket covering most of your bodies—the cover is starting to make you sweat a bit, which isn’t the most pleasant, but the soft look in ryuu’s eyes and the teasing smile beginning to stretch on his lips is all it takes to take your mind off of it. 

“this is weird.” you tell him lightheartedly. 

ryuu laughs, eyes squeezing closed in joy as he leans forward to press a kiss on your forehead. “i know! but i think i like it.” 

you hum in response, spending a few minutes just looking at him—the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes where his Duchenne markers lie. There’s a twinkle in those odd gray-brown eyes of his, the cheap light of the lamp on your nightstand giving them an off-gold sheen. 

“can i be little spoon tonight?” 

  1. you were waiting for him to ask that. 



you sigh playfully, reaching up to flick his forehead lightly. “duh. turn around.” giddily, he obliges, maneuvering his position on the bed until his back faces you. you’re used to being in this position whenever you two cuddle, though now it’s the slightest bit different being nude. 

a heavy breath escapes you as you shuffle closer to him, draping an arm over his waist and doing your best to force him back. he’s  _ warm— _ has always been known to run warm, but even now it’s a pleasant surprise. 

“why are your hands so  _ cold?” _ ryuu rests his hand over where yours is, resting lightly on the skin of his stomach. you blow cold air onto the nap of his neck—yes, on purpose—and laugh when he jumps with a repressed yelp. 

“i’m not cold, you’re just hot.” 

“well, yeah, i am, but—” 

_ “cocky motherfucker!” _

ryuu mumbles an “mhmm” in response, and you see his eyes flutter closed as he gets comfortable between the covers. another sigh escapes you, one of contentment and warmth and happiness. 

a soft, drowsy “goodnight” escapes him, and you find yourself burying your head into the nape of his neck, breaths slowing into a slow pace as you find yourself slipping into a gentle rest. 


	10. kuroo tetsurou + being taken care of while drunk

your head is the slightest bit hazy, eyes blinking blearily when you step unsteadily into your apartment. kuroo’s grip on your waist tightens when you start to stumble, pulling you back into his side to make sure you  _ don't _ end up knocking your teeth out tonight. 

“careful,” he mumbles under his breath. he’s tired—you know this even in your half-conscious, tipsy state. but kuroo isn’t one to neglect his lover in their time of need, even when this “time of need” is at two in the morning, drunk on excessive amounts of tequila. 

kuroo takes his shoes off swiftly before slipping on house slippers, moving to help you with the same task once he’s finished. your eyes are closed, body beginning to sway in an alarming way, but once kuroo is upright he lets you rest the majority of your weight on him (even though he’s on the verge of falling over, too). 

“gotta wash your face, hm?” he mumbles into the crown of your head, moving to cup one of your cheeks in his hand. his thumb taps your eyelids gently, coaxing them open. he can’t help but laugh when you smile at the sight of him—you’re loopy and tired and adorable and he thinks he might pass out from it all. 

“i’ll help you,” he tells you. “we just have to get to the bathroom in one piece.” 

you do, thankfully, and you find yourself sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat, watching kuroo open the random drawers underneath the sink to try and find your  _ fancy face stuff, _ as he calls it. (in reality it consists of one (1) cleanser, one (1) toner, and one (1) moisturizer—not fancy in the slightest, in your opinion. though you couldn’t help but appreciate the wonder in kuroo’s expression when you first introduced him to your “extensive” skincare routine.) 

the sound of the sink turning on is heard distantly as you once again begin to doze off. footsteps tread your way and you feel a foot gently nudge yours before fingers start spreading cold foamy soap on your face. kuroo’s fingers move in circles, no doubt doing his best to imitate what he’s observed from you over the years you’ve lived together. the feeling is soothing and a small sound of protest escapes you when his hands leave your face. 

he returns with a damp face towel, wiping off the bubbles of the cleanser from your face. this definitely isn’t how you’d normally go about doing this, but it’s definitely a lot better for you, what with not needing to put in any effort yourself. ah, the wonders of having a loving husband. 

you let yourself rest in your dazed state as kuroo continues along your routine, swiping a cotton pad dampened with toner along your skin and rubbing in moisturizer after that. he doesn’t trust himself to pick you up, instead resolving to nudge you awake again and let you rest some of your weight on his shoulder while he truds off to the bedroom. 

you’re drawn to the bed immediately, but a pull on your waist stops you from falling face-first into the mattress. “clothes, sweetheart. i’m not letting you sleep in these,” kuroo reminds you. you sigh.  _ and to think you were so close to finally getting to bed… _

kuroo helps you out with this part, too, and not reluctantly—he laughs fondly at your bleary state, making sure to keep you upright even if you also trip over yourself when he pulls your shirt off. you’re sat on the bed as kuroo pulls your pants off for you, replacing it with warm polka-dotted pajama pants and a long sleeved sleep shirt. 

you’re tucked beneath the covers before your head can catch up with what’s happening, but the soft press of kuroo’s lips against your cheek jolts you back to awareness. you blink up at him, fighting sleep, and yet another fond expression crosses his face. 

“i’ll be right back. i just need to change.” 

you whine childishly—kuroo was expecting this, reasonably—a hand darting out to grab onto his forearm. “c’mere already. i’m cold.” 

“just a minute! i promise.”

“i can’t wait a minute. i’ll  _ die. _ i’ll freeze to death. it’ll be your fault.” 

you’re exaggerating, of course, but in your mind it’s the perfect way to guilt-trip kuroo into getting in bed immediately.

kuroo lets out a laugh, one of the breathy ones that you find  _ very hot, _ especially now—warm breath fans across your cheek before he starts planting sweet, innocent kisses around the perimeter of your face. you melt into the feeling. it feels warm; warmer than it is underneath the covers, but before you can use this as an arguing-point, kuroo is already adjusting the sheets to rest firmly around your shoulders. 

“five minutes,” he promises. “just five minutes. and then i’ll be back, and you  _ won’t _ be dead from the cold, and i’ll warm you up and we can go to bed. okay?” 

you sigh. screw your stupid-hot husband and his stupid-hot charms. 

“fine.” 

he kisses your forehead. “that’s my baby.” 


End file.
